Mrs. Barry Seymour sat up suddenly, the laughter dying out of her eyes.

"Nan," she admonished, "you leave Roger alone. He's as Nature made him
and not fair game for such as you. Leave him to some simple country
maiden--Edna Langdon, for instance, who rides straight to hounds and
whose broad acres--or what will be her broad acres when Papa Langdon is
gathered--'march' with his."

"Surely I can out-general her?"--impertinently.

"Out-general her? Of course you can. But that's just what you mustn't
do. I won't allow you to play with Roger. He's too good a sort--even
if he is a bit heavy in hand."

"I agree. He's quite a good sort. But he needs educating. . . . And
perhaps I'm not going to 'play' with him."

"Not? Then what . . . Nan, you never mean to suggest that you're in
earnest?"

Nan regarded her consideringly.

"And why not, pray? Isn't he well-seeming? Hasn't he broad acres of
his own? Do I not find favour in his eyes? . . . Surely the last four
weeks have shown you that much?"

Kitty made a small grimace.

"They certainly have. But seriously, this is all nonsense, Nan. You